Frère
by FuelsTheComedy
Summary: Rivals, comrades, brothers. The Spy and the Sniper have come a long way since they first joined RED. As assassins, neither man is particularly good when it comes to dealing with feelings but when the Sniper suffers a devastating loss, the Spy realises just how close they've became. NO pairings – this is a friendship fic, not a romance one.


frère

The Spy long thought his ability to feel much for another person, aside from distaste of course, all but gone. Begrudgingly, however, he'd grown fond of his team and of his fellow assassin, the Sniper, in particular. They were so similar and so different; the contrast drawing them to each other's company. He'd taken to sitting up with the Sniper every other night just to talk about, well everything. By the following summer they'd become very accustomed to one another indeed. Spy didn't even knock before entering the van anymore.

On a particularly warm night, Sniper seemed very quiet, distracted even. Spy poked fun at him all night but the taller man was too lost in thought to take much notice. Soon the Frenchman had grown testy and demanded to know what the Bushman wasn't telling him. Calmly, he'd replied.

"Me dads dead."

He didn't cry. He didn't even seem sad, he was just emotionless. The Spy had offered his condolences before asking if he wished to be left alone. Yes, he did, so Spy nodded understandingly before leaving. He wasn't good at being emotionally supportive and Sniper wasn't good with being, well _emotional_. They were men – and men were strong.

Two days had already passed and the Sniper still remained completely unable to absorb the loss. Ah, emotional numbness: the minds way of protecting the grieving from dissolving into an empty shell.

"Jus' cause I ain't _blubberin'_ don't mean I ain't sad."

"You 'ave completely withdrawn into your own little world." Spy stared down at him with a facial expression much colder than he intended, but his hard look held more concern than disapproval. He loathed the Bushman's stubborn passiveness.

"Lil' world _nothin'_, I've always preferred me own company, n'you know it. Nothin's changed."

"Hasn't it?"

It had. He'd never see his father again. Never make him proud – hell he'd had almost forty years to accomplish the task, and he still failed. _Christ_, he thought, _this can't be happening to me._

"Look," he sighed heavily. "m'tired. You'd best be off."

"It is six thirty in the evening."

The Sniper gave him a look before checking the dusty, old clock on the wall behind him. Sure enough, it had just left 6:30pm. He groaned and pressed his fingers hard into his eyes, sighing again.

"Well I'm still tired o'right. Needa be fresh for work tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is Sunday, there _is_ no work." The Spy spoke gently but narrowed his eyes when the Snipers vacant, pale face didn't react, he looked completely drained. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I'm tired, Spook." Hm. That's what he thought. Sniper lifted a calloused hand to pull his hat over his eyes, mild worry washing over his gaunt face when he found his hat missing. He looked left, and he looked right; no hat. Mild worry became panic as he hurried, so suddenly to his long legs that he wobbled from their sudden use, eyes darting about madly.

"Me hat," his throat croaked "Where's me hat!?" The Spy watched in stunned silence as Sniper tore open the little cupboard containing what few other clothes he owned and began to toss them out frantically, his untidy van increasingly becoming more robbed looking. "Where is it? _Where_ is it?"

"Sniper."

"I-Ican't lose it."

"_Sniper_." He turned to look at the Spy, who gently held the old hat in both hands as if it were a delicate ornament. It had fallen behind the Bushman's bed, hidden but not hard to see. The Sniper collected himself and gently took his hat, holding it closely to his chest.

"Thanks." His voice was barely audible.

Spy looked into those empty eyes, they'd been wide with fear but a moment ago, now their eerie vacantness was back. Spy knew the numbness had its purpose, it was the only thing stopping the proud man before him from breaking down completely. He knew it wasn't a good idea for the Sniper to be alone right now, but the Aussie was too proud and far too private to talk about anything personal, especially not in his current state.

"G'night."

Without resisting, the Spy nodded before exiting the van and returning to his room. He knew he wasn't the only man who didn't sleep that night.

The next day was Sunday, another day off and the only day the men who hadn't went somewhere after work on Friday decided to fraternize with their teammates, usually in the form of drinking and playing poker, or chatting over ribs. The Sniper had joined them for the odd game of poker, but he was a loner by nature so nobody questioned his absence from today's game.

The Spy watched his team laugh and bicker over various nothings as they enjoyed the feeling of finally _belonging_ somewhere. So many of them were outcasts, it was as if RED had just hired a bunch of people who simply wouldn't be missed if they died on the job. Sure the Scout had his ma, as did the Demoman but none of the mercenaries had wives or children. They looked like one big dysfunctional family, mocking one another mercilessly while being willing to defend each other at the drop of a hat. The Spy smiled at the thought. He'd fought, bled and even died with these men for years now - they were his _family_, the closest thing to brothers he'd ever had.

And the Sniper was their brother too.

The Spy was a very private man himself so he respected his comrades wish to be left alone during this difficult time, but the more he thought about it the more he realised the Sniper wanted to be alone – not it was not what he _needed_. When Spy walked outside to lay eyes upon that hunk of rust that was his Australian comrades van, his gaze found only and empty space. A flicker of concern tickled his chest.

"Merde."

The hours came and went, morning became afternoon, then evening and then finally night fell. It was nearly midnight when the Snipers old van nestled unsteadily back into its regular space outside the base. The Spy didn't wait long before heading over, not even bothering to knock as he entered the small space the Sniper called home. He stopped dead when a familiar scent hit his nose.

Alchohol.

Sniper was still in the driver's seat, head pillowed in his arms as he leaned over the wheel, he reeked of whisky.

"Mon dieu, Bushman." Spy gave him a gentle shake but got no response. A harder shake was met with a low, unhappy growl but eventually the drunken man stirred.

"Mm, Wot? Wotcha want ya bloody … backstabbin'…" He slurred insults into his crossed arms and his eyes remained shut, his aviators and hat falling off from their usual perches. "Lemme be."

"Get up, you can't sleep behind the wheel."

"Piss off."

"_Get_ up." The half-slumbering man tried to elbow the bothersome Frenchman away, but the Spy eventually got a good hold on him and hauled him to his feet – literally dragging him and throwing him down onto his bed.

"I … I only had a couple, 'swear." He sounded like an adolescent son trying to convince his father he wasn't drunk. When Spy didn't reply to him, he sighed indignantly. "I _swear_."

"I believe you," Lied the Frenchman "give me your foot."

"Wot?"

"Your foot."

"Why?"

Spy didn't answer him, he roughly lifted the foot and pulled off his cowboy-style boot and the other soon followed. It was a warm night so Spy didn't bother with a blanket, instead he poured a glass of water and brought it to the bed, but Sniper was already snoring, inebriation having knocked him out cold.

The next day during the battle, Spy was genuinely shocked to hear a Sniper rifle firing from his own side. The bushman didn't do anywhere near as well as he normally did, and he knew the team was going to rip him a new one for it if they lost.

"_You've failed._

"Nice aiming, chucklehead. What? Were you aiming for the BLUs or for the _ground_?" Scout, naturally, was the first to voice his feelings on the matter.

"You are a disgrace to your team, camper!" Soldier's harsh voice boomed out.

When the friendly ol' Engineer approached Sniper, the Spy cringed when a frown washed over his goggled face. The Texan gave the air around Sniper a quick sniff.

"You, ah, you been drinkin' down under?"

Demoman was quick to his own defence.

"Wit's it tae you, wee man!?"

"Not _you_," Engineer barked, turning his gaze back to a very pale looking Sniper. "S'real unlike ya'll to be drinkin' when ya so often preach just how much _concentratin'_ you're job requires, son."

"Oi, ma job requires concentratin' as well ye know!" Sniper managed to slip away unscathed as Demo began to holler at Engineer who, to his credit, had seemed to be expressing more concern for than annoyance.

"That could have gone better." Spy had followed him back into the safety of his van.

"Yer tellin' me," Sniper rubbed his forehead "Thought ol' Soldier was gonna bite me head off."

"I was referring to your complete lack of responsibility concerning your own safety."

"Y'wot?"

"Drinking and driving, monsieur."

"S'fine."

"Is not _fine_."

At Spy's angry tone and creased brow, Snipers face shifted into one of unrecognisable, threatening rage as he balled his fists. He was about to snap.

"I _ain't_ in the mood for more lecturin'."

"I am not _lecturing_ you," he breathed out in exasperation "I am merely concern-"

"Yeah? Well go and be bloody concerned for someone who wants it! 'Fact, Why are you even _here_, eh!? This is my bloody van, not some place you can just come prancin' around in!" his face was so red and his eyes so filled with wrath that for a moment Spy genuinely feared being attacked by his friend. "Get out!"

"Snip-"

"GERR' OUT!" Spy enjoyed mocking people, especially his fellow assassin, but right at this moment he was a truly terrifying sight to behold. The Snipers whole body was rigid and ready - like that of a cornered predator and he never took his eyes from his co-worker for a second. The Spy obliged without another word.

The next day Sniper showed up for work, not even meeting any of his teammates in the eye - completely blanking out the Engineers friendly, worried inquiries. He must have taken down nearly ever enemy that his scope fell upon, his body count towering over that of his team. Well, mused the Spy, at least he was channelling his anger into more _practical_ pursuits. The week continued in a similar pattern and the whole team gave Sniper his space, and the Spy was no exception. He stayed away from Snipers van for three nights before returning, hoping he'd simmered down.

He hadn't.

"Bonjour."

"Wot d'you want?"

"To enjoy my colleagues company," he kept his demeanour calm "as I once often did."

"Pick another colleague, mate" Sniper refused to look up at him as he cleaned his rifle "This one ain't interested."

"If I recall correctly, you used to be."

"Yeah, I _used_ to be. Now piss off."

Spy knew he had to be the bigger man here, for where numbness had failed to shield Sniper from dealing with his father's death; anger and hostility were having a go. There was a long silence.

"I'm sorry, mon ami."

"Really? Well that's just bloody brilliant Spook, really, you've made me day." He turned to glare at him, a snarl on his face. "Now get out."

Spy just stood, staring.

"Fine, stay! Bloody stay where you're not welcome, I don't mind! S'not like I value me _privacy_ or mind havin' a bloody backstabbin', cheatin' snake in me van!" With that he whipped around, turning his back to Spy to polish his rifle vigorously.

Without a word, Spy sat on the bed and crossed his legs.

An hour passed. Then two and the Sniper sat quietly. He'd stopped cleaning his rifle and his kukri so settled for just sitting in silence. Behind him his masked teammate matched him wordless. The two assassins were masters of waiting for the right moment, in a battle of patience neither man was going to win. Eventually, an Australian accent spoke.

"M'sorry."

It was almost whispered, but sounded amplified by the prolonged silence. Spy turned to stare at the back of Snipers head, expelling smoke from his mouth.

"Don't be."

"But I am. M'not good at this," he lifted then dropped his arms ."truth be told, mate, yer making me bloody uncomfortable here."

"It was not my intent."

"I know," he turned, looking like death "S'not necessary. I know yer intentions are good an' all mate, n'I do 'preciate it, honestly I do, but it's just not what I need."

"Pray tell bushman, what do you need?"

"Space." He pulled his hat down over his eyes. "Time to meself, to think."

"You 'ave spent all week alone, and I wager that you 'ave not eaten nor slept during this time."

Where numbness and anger had failed – exhaustion succeeded. Sniper bowed his head, shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Fine." The Sniper stood, pushing his hand into the small of his back to press against the pain that lingered there from sitting in his uncomfortable slouch for too long. He sat, elbows on knees, next to the Spy who extended a cigarette to him. They smoked quietly for a time, the silence comfortable.

"How old was your father?"

"woulda been sixty six, two days ago."

"You 'ave brothers and sisters?"

"D'you?" Sniper didn't look up when the spy turned to stare at him. It was a matter of trust with the pair of them; Sniper would allow himself to be comforted if Spy let down his own wall for the night.

"Oui," he took a drag of his cigarette "two sisters."

"Huh. I don't speak to me brother. Lives in London, don't even know if he knows about me dad yet." He fingered the watch on his wrist. "Your parents still alive?"

"My mother is. My father died when I was a boy."

"Step-dad?"

"We 'ad many over the years, thought few remained long-term." He paused "you seemed to 'ave a very _delicate_ relationship with your father."

"Me dad had already mapped out the life he wanted for me, right from the day I was bloody born. When I went the opposite way I became more of a chore." He looked down. "I know it sounds pathetic but … all I ever wanted was to make him proud."

"A noble goal, the dream of _every_ man worth his salt. Nothing pathetic about it."

"You not feel lost without a dad, growin' up?"

"Non. My mother was a very strong woman, even today at seventy she remains one of the most resilient people I have ever met. As long as I made her proud, I didn't need a father in my life."

"And have you? Made her proud I mean?" The Spy seemed to consider this for a moment.

"I like to think so."

Sniper nodded. Then he yawned, long and loudly as he arched his back into a stiff stretch. He rubbed his exhausted face with both hands.

"You will try and get some sleep, yes?"

"Yeah, yeah. Now piss off, mate" he smiled "last time I slept with a snake in me van I nearly lost me leg."

Spy forced a smile at his friend's use of humour, typical really but at least the anger had seemed to subside - and the Spy had no intention of evoking it again.

"bonne nuit, Bushman."

"Uh huh."

Spy left the smoky little van and headed for his own room within the base, but just as he went to light himself a cigarette he realised he had left his lighter in the damn camper van. Swearing under his breath, he didn't entertain the idea of leaving it until tomorrow; he headed back to the Snipers messy nest.

Hoping to quietly slip in for his lighter without waking his exhausted friend, he crept inside and felt relief to see that the lights were off. Should be no problem, the van was creaky but the Spy knew were to stand. He entered, but just as he slid his fingers over his metallic surface of his lighter he heard a distinct sound – a sob.

His eyes had yet to adjust to the darkness of the van, so dropping all subtly for once Spy just flicked the dull light on, startling the lanky owner.

By reflex, Sniper had his kurki in his hand and was poised in a defensive position on his bed in a second, but when he saw it was spy he grumbled and lowered his weapon. His face was flushed and his eyes were bloodshot and watery.

"Don't you ever bloody _knock_!?"

"My apologies, amigo, I forgot my lighter."

Sniper blinked and a tear cascaded down his cheek, he tried to wipe it casually and turn his face away, jaw tensed.

"Well, knock next time will you. Tryna sleep here."

Spy felt a tug in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps it was because he'd come to see the man as a brother of sorts, or perhaps he was just getting soft upon his entrance into middle-age but for whatever reason the sight of the Sniper trying so hard to remain strong when the weight of the loss was too much – it definitely stabbed something in his chest.

"Sniper," he walked up to the bed and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright to need other people every now and again." He squeezed. That done it. Sniper dropped his head and his shoulders began to shake.

"Oh-Christ..." he drew in a sharp, unsteady breath "jus'-jus' get _outta_ here, will you?" his voice trembled and his breathing came quickly as he lifted a shaky hand to cover his face – ashamed to weep before another man.

"It's alright." Spy sounded like a completely different person when he used that soothing voice. Perhaps that was the voice he put on to talk to women? Perfect, another blow to Snipers pride. He was too far gone as Spy took a seat next to him, wrapping a friendly arm around his shoulders. His whole body racked and he had to bring up his other hand to cover his entire face as a week's worth of repressed heart-ache came bursting free, like a dam being demolished.

"M'sorry," he sniffed repeatedly "m'sorry."

"Don't be."

"Sorry."

"It's alright."

Spy could almost feel the other mans sorrow as he shook in his arm; it was more painful than any bullet wound. He'd always figured he'd be terrible at comforting people, but now that he was, it just came naturally.

Sniper was crying heavily into his hands, God how long had it been since he'd last cried? So many years that the sounds of his own sobs startled him. He burned with shame and grief – completely torn between feeling humiliated by someone witnessing him so vulnerable and feeling so glad to have that arm wrapped around him, squeezing protectively. He hated Spy's presence beside him, but didn't want him to go. Once the sobbing calmed, tears continued to fall but the shuddering stopped. They stayed quiet for a long time, shoulder to shoulder. A headache began to pound and he ducked his head. Time just seemed to fly by.

Soon, Sniper was leaning his head against Spy's shoulder, his breathing very slow. It was a few minutes before Spy realised that he'd fallen asleep against him. He gently laid Sniper down on the bed and wiped a stray tear from his cheek. Then another tear dripped onto the sleeping man's face, only they weren't coming from his eyes.

They were coming from Spy's.

He lifted a finger and wiped his own watering eyes, stunned. He stood, shook to the core at the realisation that he'd shed tears for another's pain. He'd long thought that capability lost forever. He retrieved his lighter and smiled back over at the sleeping Sniper.

"Good night, frère"

He left the van, into the cool air of the night.


End file.
